


no one understands

by Areiton



Series: Teen Wolf Kink Bingo [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dom Stiles Stilinski, Dom/sub, Introspection, M/M, Negotiated kink, Oral Sex, Slapping, Sub Derek Hale, Subspace, healthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15678042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: No one else sees Derek, when he’s like this, and Stiles thinks it’s a good thing.Because he would kill, to be the only one who sees Derek like this.





	no one understands

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Teen Wolf Kink Bingo.  
> Square filled: Slapping

No one understands the relationship. 

Stiles  _ knows _ no one gets it, know it worries Scott and that Isaac almost hates him for it, that his father would have a fucking heart attack if he knew. 

When Cora found out, she wouldn’t even speak to him. Erica went for his fucking throat when she first saw them together, really. 

But that’s all periphery. 

Because no one is  _ here. _

No one else sees Derek, when he’s like this, and Stiles thinks it’s a good thing. 

Because he would kill, to be the only one who sees Derek like this. 

Naked, and strong, hard cock curved toward his belly, head tipped back and expression blissful, a thick collar around his lovely throat. 

Derek, like this, on his knees, pliant and submissive, in ways he’s never allowed to be, is everything Stiles ever wanted. 

The first time it happened, they were arguing, Stiles bitching about Derek’s martyr complex after a fight with a manticore, and he’d lost his temper when Derek said something especially self-destructive, slapping Derek before he could rein himself in. 

The shocked  _ want _ in Derek’s eyes had scared Stiles so much that he’d run, spent almost six months away at college refusing to acknowledge the pack before his dad and Scott dragged him home. 

It took time, and a lot more therapy than either of them were really expecting, but they eventually got  _ here. _

A place where Derek could have this--submission, the pressure of his collar, Stiles will dominating every thought and desire, without it feeling like  _ punishment. _ Like recompense. 

It worries him sometimes, because Derek’s self-flagellation streak is a mile wide, and it’s a fine line to walk, making sure the sub is in the right headspace, that what Stiles did was for the right reasons, and not because Derek felt misplaced guilt for a decade old mistake. 

“How you doin’, baby,” Stiles murmurs, testing the snugness of the black leather collar, and Derek blinks up at him, eyes dazed and beautiful. He’s been collared for almost two hours, now, spent one of it cleaning the kitchen and kneeling next to Stiles while he worked, and the last bathing Stiles, his hands gentle, almost reverent, as Stiles lazed in the tub and Derek knelt on the hard tile. 

No one understands it. 

Because Derek is the Alpha, and he’s meant to lead, and he’s a  _ good _ alpha. 

And because Stiles is not even his Second, or Emissary, because Stiles is the token human who runs with wolves, because Stiles and Derek fight like cats and dogs when they’re not in bed, because Stiles is  _ weak _ . 

They don’t understand, even after the years of seeing it. Derek kneeling, quiet and content, his head resting on Stiles knee while the pack watched a movie. 

Derek moving instantly, when Stiles demanded something as small as a glass of water. 

Derek, his scent swelling with lust, when Stiles gripped the back of his neck and  _ shook.  _

Stiles thinks sometimes, Peter understands. But Peter is a born wolf and understands what those dynamics mean, more than the pack ever will. 

And Peter is a creepy fucker five steps past inappropriate, so Stiles tries not to think about him. 

“You were very good for me tonight, baby. Do you want to tell me what you want?” 

Sometimes--not often, but sometimes--Derek likes to chose. 

Most of the time he wants Stiles to decide, to give him what Stiles thinks he needs. But occasionally, he wants something enough to ask for it, and Stiles always,  _ always _ gives him that choice. 

“I--My face?” 

Stiles inhales, and then nods, leaning down, and kissing him softly. Derek tilts up into the kiss, the move making his collar press against the thrust of his throat, and he groans at the pressure, at the hand in his hair tightening to hold him there. 

“What’s your safe word, baby?” Stiles murmurs. 

“Dodgers,” Derek mumbles, and Stiles hums, kissing him again. 

Then he draws back and slaps him, as hard as he can. 

The third time, Derek’s mouth falls open and he moans, his eyes drifting closed, as he leans into it, pulling against the hand in his hair and Stiles hisses, slapping him again and again, until his arm aches and his hand stings and the red flush in Derek’s cheek is almost violently bright.

He’s so hard it hurts, and Derek--Derek has come, silent and still, dripping down his abs and thigh as he stays there, on his knees for Stiles, head tilted back, lips curved into a smile. 

“Derek, baby, gimme a color,” Stiles gasps, straightening, stroking his cock as he waits. 

“Green,” he says, not even bothering to open his eyes, and Stiles wonders how far into subspace he’s drifted. 

“Open your mouth for me,” Stiles says, putting a little bit of steel in his tone, just enough that Derek straightens, and his mouth opens as Stiles feeds his cock in. 

No one understands it. 

Hell, half the time,  _ Stiles _ doesn’t understand it. 

But he knows that Derek needs this, loves this, fucking  _ lives _ for this. 

And seeing Derek like this--broken down and vulnerable the way he refuses to be for anyone else, willing and trusting and so happy it seems to pour out of him--Stiles needs this. 

He fucks his boyfriend’s mouth, hand on his hot red cheek and when he comes, Derek swallows, his hands on Stiles’ hips to hold him steady, bracing him. 

It’s strange and sometimes difficult and Stiles thinks it doesn’t matter because it’s perfect. 

It’s them. 

And it’s exactly what they need. 

 


End file.
